


Side Effects Include: Inception

by Croik



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/pseuds/Croik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid-movie What-If.  The night before the big job Eames checks in on Robert, and discovers you don't need Inception to ruin a man's life for the better.  Just lots of sex and and some drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Effects Include: Inception

Eames was in Sydney the morning Maurice Fischer died. He had come ahead of the team, hoping to capture a few last insights before their attempt at the impossible. What he found was a Fischer house in chaos: the halls were crawling with doctors and lawyers and all manner of task-laden assistants, and outside, a flock of reporters flashed their cameras at the curtained windows, hoping for a shot of the richest corpse in the world for their trashy tabloid cover.

Peter Browning handled the onslaught deftly, ordering every man and woman to a specific goal. There were hundreds of people that needed to be notified, travel and funeral arrangements to be made, statements to be issued to various _credible_ news outlets, and on top of it all Fischer Morrow business that could not be neglected even in the first hour of mourning. Eames was put quickly to work making calls. He stayed all day and nearly all through the night and didn't see so much as a shadow of Robert Fischer.

Cobb called him the next morning, having just arrived with the rest of their team in Sydney. Eames related to him Robert's travel schedule, setting the date and time for their operation to Tuesday morning.

It was just as Eames hung up that he caught his first glimpse of the newly-orphaned Robert Fischer, on the television in his hotel room. Robert stayed only a few brief moments before his front door, relating to the cameras his grief and resolution to move forward. Every word was a lie. As he retreated back into the house Eames made a resolution of his own, and returned to the mansion that evening.

The halls had calmed by then. Browning had retired to his own luxury home, and only a handful of assistants and house staff remained to carry out the most important responsibilities. Again Robert was nowhere to be seen, but Eames lent a hand where he could, determined to have his hunch validated before leaving.

By nine o'clock the house was quiet again. Eames lingered still, and when he was certain that only a few members of the house staff were still present, he snuck down the long hall on the second floor that led to Robert's room. He knocked, and though he received no answer, he peeked inside.

The room was dark, save a dull gleam of yellow light from the bedside lamp. It took a moment for Eames's eyes to adjust and locate his mark: Robert was slumped in his desk chair, still dressed in his suit from the morning's press conference, staring into space. He was so still, and his eyes so empty, Eames at first wondered if he might be dead.

"Mr. Fischer?" Eames called. Robert didn't respond, not even to blink, so he crossed the expansive bedroom and tried again. "Excuse me, Mr. Fischer?"

Robert flinched, and took in a sharp breath as if awakening from a trance. Slowly, animation returned to his heavy limbs: he stretched his back, his legs, his cramped fingers. He blinked several times and looked up at the intruder.

Eames felt a quiver in his gut. Robert appeared both wearily ancient and disarmingly young then, nestled in the old chair that looked several sizes too large for him. His crisp suit was helplessly wrinkled and his necktie tight but askew. His cheeks, pale even in the warm light, seemed to jut out at even sharper angles than normal. In all he was a haggard mess, dehydrated and undernourished and indifferent to all of it. But his eyes were something else; his wide, impossibly blue eyes, though heavy with fatigue, gleamed up at Eames with a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions. He was exhausted, and defiant, and afraid, and ashamed all at once, his gazing pleading and dismissive, and above all else desperate to hide it. He was a cracked glass waiting to be released, and he was beautiful.

"Who the hell are you?" Robert asked hoarsely.

Eames leaned his hip against the desk. "I work for Mr. Browning," he said. "Paralegal."

Robert glanced right and left as if reacquainting himself with his surroundings. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I came looking for you. According to the staff you didn't come out for dinner."

He frowned, looking about again, and finally reached forward to turn the desk clock toward him. "Oh."

Eames watched him, waiting for something more, but Robert simply relaxed in the chair again. "Aren't you hungry?" he prodded.

"No." Robert rubbed his eyes, using his thumb and two fingers to push the glass shard emotions below his surface. "I'm fine."

He looked up again, and was given pause by Eames's face. After a moment of silent consideration he seemed to realize something, as his posture straightened and his eyes grew a little wider. Still Eames waited, curious to see if he could guess the source of his sudden inspiration.

"Oh. I remember you." Robert stretched his shoulders again and pulled himself out of the chair's grip. "If you're looking for Peter, he's not here. He's already on his way to Los Angeles to prepare for the funeral."

"I'm not looking for Mr. Browning," Eames said. "I was just talking to the housekeeper, and--"

"Sure you are." Robert turned toward him with a bitter half smile. "I've seen you around here. You're always watching him." His voice was sharp and almost jealous. "If that's what you want from him, you should just say so--he won't say no. But he won't promote you for it."

Eames's eyebrows rose. There was history in Robert's implications that he couldn't help but wonder about, but more fascinating than even that were Robert's still unflinchingly blue eyes, and the lengths they went to in attempting to cover his fractured composure. All he needed was a little push. All he needed was a fall from the table to spill his contents across the hardwood.

"And you?"

Robert frowned at him. "What?"

"Maybe I wasn't watching Browning," Eames said, lowering his voice to match the room's golden ambiance. "Maybe I was watching you."

He couldn't hide the spark of disbelief, of reckless curiosity; but he tried. "I wouldn't promote you, either," he replied.

Eames held his gaze. "Does that mean you wouldn't say no?"

There was nothing more satisfying than a gamble met with happy results. Robert was quiet for only a moment, and gave no warning before closing the distance between them, rewarding Eames for his boldness with a heavy kiss. The first impact of their lips was hard, with Robert capturing Eames's jaw in both hands as he fit their mouths roughly together. He wanted to be sure that even if Eames had only been teasing, he would rise to this new occasion. Eames hardly needed the incentive. He wrapped his arms around Robert's waist and drew their bodies together as insistently as their lips, thrilled by the slender, eager frame beneath his hungry fingers.

Robert ended the kiss with a quick gasp. "Fuck me," he whispered, kneading his hands into the back of Eames's neck. "Right now."

"Yes sir," Eames replied.

Robert drew him into another desperate kiss. He was all but shaking, and when Eames nudged him back against the desk, he paused his affections long enough to hop up onto it. Then he was drawing Eames to him again, wrapping him up in his thousand dollar trousers, tugging at his hair.

Eames obliged, encouraging the thighs around him to tighten with a slow, groping massage. The grip of trembling muscle around his hips made his pulse race. It had been a long time since someone demanded his company with such voracity, and even knowing that Robert was half mad with grief, he couldn't bring himself to show restraint. He took shameless advantage of his lovely host, rubbing his long legs, his firm buttocks, and thought that maybe what Robert really needed most was a little old fashioned amnesia.

"Were you really watching me?" Robert asked, digging his heels into the backs of Eames's legs. He was already half hard and pressing eagerly against Eames's taut stomach.

Eames slipped his hands under Robert's jacket and untucked his shirt so he could get his hands on warm skin. "Yes," he said, tracing the outlines of Robert's ribs to his spine.

Robert squirmed and arched his back. "Why?"

Eames followed the slope of Robert's body beneath the hem of his pants, teasing two fingers down the cleft of his ass. "Because you're beautiful."

Robert left out a sound that was half scoff, half moan. He pulled at Eames's hair, hard, drawing his head back so he could steal another opened-mouthed kiss. His tongue shoved itself against Eames's possessively, sending a hot shiver into Eames's stomach and lower. He didn't just know what he wanted, he took it, and Eames was sure that in other circumstances he was the most selfish of lovers; but this time, Robert had no control to cling to. All his superiority was a guise, one Eames looked forward to unraveling.

"You're such a fucking liar," Robert groaned once their mouths were apart. He hooked one hand around the back of Eames's neck and depended on it as he leaned far to the side, trying to pry open his desk drawer. Eames diverted one hand to help, and after some rummaging, Robert managed to pull out a row of condoms and a bottle of lubricant.

"And you're a bloody fool," Eames retorted. He set both hands against Robert's chest and pushed, splaying him out across the desk. Robert resisted only to feel more of his strength, and judging by the look of awe that crossed his face, was pleased. "If you really think I was lying, that is."

Robert's brow creased. "What?"

Eames unbuttoned Robert's pants, drawing them--and Robert's briefs--down just far enough to clear his ass. "I said, you're beautiful," he repeated, running his thumb down the underside of Robert's freed erection. "I've wanted to do this for a while."

Robert wet his lips as he watched Eames unzip his own pants. "Still lying," he said, but all the same he hooked his knees over Eames's shoulders. "Hurry up."

Eames chuckled despite himself. It wasn't easy with Robert already wrapped around him but he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slipped it on. Once his cock was slick with the lubricant he coated two fingers and slid them to Robert's ass, plying him gently.

Robert grimaced as they slid two knuckles deep, and Eames started to pull back until he realized it was not out of pain.

"You must think I'm pathetic," Robert said defiantly.

"Of course not." Eames eased in deeper, massaging the tense muscle.

Robert squirmed, and Eames moved his hand back and forth, fucking him with his calloused fingers. He wanted to see strength peeled away. It seemed to do the trick--Robert's breath grew sharp, and his cock twitched anxiously against his stomach.

"Please hurry," he groaned.

Eames immediately withdrew his hand, repositioned, and arched into him. He did not hesitate to give Robert his full length, shoving their bodies together, and gasped at the blazing pressure that seemed to swallow him whole. Robert clenched his jaws and eyes shut. It wasn't until Eames pulled back that he made a sound. "Is everyone else gone?" he hissed.

"Mostly." Eames dug his hands into Robert's slender waist and thrust again; Robert had to grab for the edge of the desk to keep from being pushed across it. "No one...will hear us."

Once he had that reassurance, Robert relinquished all control. He gripped the desk with both hands and arched into Eames's hips, riding each forceful motion. His voice broke in unbridled waves, throaty moans as vulgar as anything Eames had ever heard filling the darkened room. They spurred Eames on to intensity he thought he'd lost to much younger years: he pumped hard and fast into Robert's tight ass, until he burned from the effort and sweat matted his hair.

"Fucking... _God_ ," Robert groaned, releasing the desk with one hand to paw at Eames's chest. He found a handhold in Eames's tie and pulled, yanking Eames down and bending his knees higher, so that when Eames rocked into him again he reached--impossibly--deeper. He cried out raggedly. "Fuck you, _fuck you_."

Eames momentarily lost his breath as he met Robert's infuriatingly blue eyes. "Eames," he gasped out. "Call me Eames."

"Eames..." Robert shuddered, clenching around Eames's cock and making him see stars. "Fuck you, Eames," he hissed, hating him, hating himself. "You fucking Eames..."

He tossed his head, senseless and furious, and every time the name ground out of him Eames fucked him harder, his feet scraping floor in want of greater leverage. The desk rocked loudly beneath them, paper and pens clattered to the ground, and despite his promise Eames was sure every servant left in the house could hear them going mad in each other. He imagined them getting off like helpless animals, listening to him claim their ravished prince. His name in his ears--sometimes a curse, sometimes a prayer in Robert's failing voice--sent pressure pounding through his groin until he thought his body would fall apart.

Robert spasmed beneath him. He sobbed as if in agony and pulled at Eames's shoulders, crushing himself beneath the broader body as climax wracked him. "Eames," he whimpered--the only word left in his language. "Eames..."

Eames growled, letting Robert's passion sweep him up. With a final snap of his hips he came; came until he felt his stomach drop and his balls turn inside out. Weak with disbelief, he pulled out and let Robert's knees slip off his shoulders.

Robert was by then so exhausted that his feet dropped to the floor, and he groaned sharply as his back was painfully arched. Eames grunted and grabbed Robert's jacket, sitting him up. "Sorry, sorry."

"Fuck you." Robert drooped against his shoulder. "Fuck you, Eames..."

Eames wrapped one arm around him just to be sure he wouldn't topple. "You're welcome," he said.

 

 

 

By eleven o'clock, Eames was naked in Robert's bed, and was woken up by a stern hand rocking his shoulder. He groaned and rolled onto his back. "What?"

"Do you have any on you?" Robert asked. He was also in the bed, also naked, but looking much more alert than his companion, even having passed out only two hours before.

Eames rubbed his face. "Any what?"

"Drugs. Heroin."

"What?" It was so unexpected and absurd that Eames couldn't help but laugh. "You don't do heroin."

"Well maybe I want to." Robert slapped him in the chest impatiently. "Do you have any on you or not?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

Robert grabbed his arm and ran his thumb over the faint scar on the inside of his wrist. Instinctually Eames jerked his arm back, and when Robert gave him an _I told you so_ look he tried to cover his mistake with a laugh. "Don't be stupid," he said. "These aren't track marks."

"It's a needle puncture, and it's recent," Robert argued. "So unless you want me to tell Mr. Browning--"

"All right, all right." Eames debated, but when Robert leaned over him, staring him down with those ridiculously blue eyes, he spouted the truth. "It is drugs. Have you ever heard of Somnacin?"

Robert frowned and leaned against Eames's side. "Isn't that used for shared dreaming?"

"Not technically." Robert was a thin, bony thing, but his weight was somehow very comfortable. Eames splayed his fingers against the inside of his thigh just because it was in reach. "It's for dreaming, period. Have you ever used it?"

"Sort of." Robert shrugged, faking disinterest. "My father convinced me to have subconscious training last year."

Eames filed that information quickly away. "So you know how brilliant it is, eh?"

He shrugged again. "I suppose."

"If that's your reaction, you haven't _really_ used Somnacin," Eames said, smiling.

"So?" Robert smoothed his hands coyly over Eames's chest. "Do you have any on you, or not?"

Eames started to reply, but then paused, realizing... "I do. But not a needle to shoot it with."

Robert snorted and climbed off the bed. "So get it. I have needles." He was stark naked but he left the room without hesitation.

Eames stared after him, too baffled to be properly amused. He found his suit coat rumpled on the floor and dug out of the inside pocket a tiny vial of Somnacin innocently swiped from Yusuf's desk. He had been intending to use it that night, perfecting his Forgery one last time before the job, but at the moment he wasn't sure he would have that chance anyway.

He turned on the bedside lamp and glanced to the clock. In ten hours' time they would be on a plane to Los Angeles. He would be in Robert's mind, changing him.

 _For the better,_ Eames thought, glancing to the door as Robert returned, a small black bag in hand. He rubbed his mouth, erasing the tension from his clenched jaw. "Maybe I should have asked _you_ for drugs," he teased.

Robert dropped onto the bed. "Maurice has spent the last six months bedridden," he said. "He's received all his medical attention here. These are just leftovers."

Eames winced and rejoined him on the mattress. He watched as Robert picked a syringe out of the bag and fixed a fresh needle to it with practiced care. "You weren't the one taking care of him, were you?"

"No." Robert's brow furrowed, and for a moment the rainbow of colors returned to his achingly blue eyes. "They showed me how, thinking that I might need to at some point, but..." He shook his head. "He never would have allowed it."

"But you found a use for it anyway," Eames said, still fixing Robert with all his attention.

"No, I..." Robert glanced to him, and his awkward look when he saw Eames offering the Somnacin gave him away. He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I've never done this before," he admitted. "I only asked because..."

The explanation didn't come, but it was already in his face. Eames understood. He remembered nights spent slumped in old chairs, fucking strangers in dark bars, accepting gifts from unreliable sources. He took from Robert the bag and syringe. "Tonight, you don't have to think about anything," he promised. He gave Robert's thigh a smack. "Lie down."

Robert climbed to the bed's center and stretched out on his back. His earlier recklessness was clearly still at play but tempered, leaving room for uncertainty as he offered up his arm. Eames swabbed the inside of his forearm with alcohol from the kit, and then placed everything aside but the syringe.

"What's it like?" Robert asked quietly.

"Listen closely, because this is important," Eames said.

He leaned over Robert and kissed him on the mouth. It caught Robert by surprise, and he murmured in confusion and tried to urge him back. Eames stayed, coaxing him with gentle lips until he relaxed again. "I want you to close your eyes and think about a beach," he murmured, running one hand up and down Robert's bare ribs. "Somewhere warm, isolated, and beautiful." He kissed him again, and this time, Robert met his lips eagerly. "Got it?"

Robert closed his eyes and took in a slow breath. "Yes."

"Just keep it in your mind," Eames said as he leaned back. He curled his hand over Robert's and guided him to clench his fist a few times to raise his veins. "The waves on the shore. A cool breeze." He pierced Robert's pale skin with the needle and injected the drug. "A bed in the shade..."

Robert sighed, and was soon limp as the Somnacin flowed through his system. Eames placed the needle aside and pressed his thumb against the puncture just long enough to stop any flow of blood. Then he went to work. He feathered his hands over Robert's chest, tracing the contours of his body--his muscles, his ribs, the slope of his shoulders and the gentle ridges of his abdomen. As Robert's breath grew heavy his caress deepened to a massage. He drew his hands smoothly from Robert's collar down to the rise of his hips, and smiled when Robert arched into his touch, even in his sleep.

"You are beautiful," Eames murmured. He continued to ease Robert's tensions with firm hands as he leaned down, covering and warming his body with his own. "I don't know why you doubt it, but you shouldn't." He ghosted his lips over Robert's, felt and tasted a long, blissful sigh. "You're beautiful."

Robert shivered, and his eyelids twitched. Eames kissed them and then leaned back again so he could roll him carefully onto his stomach. He rubbed Robert's shoulders and back, drawing more pleased sleep-noises from him, paying special attention to the muscles just above his tailbone where he was likely still sore. Feeling Robert wriggle unconsciously beneath his hands curled fresh arousal in his gut; he was tempted to show Robert all the pleasures his little dream drug had to offer, but he held himself back, keeping his fingers in safe places despite the temptation.

Without a steady supply the Somnacin only lasted a few minutes. When Robert awoke it was with a slow shudder and a moan of disappointment. "Fucking...Eames..."

Eames smiled, continuing to massage his lower back. "Sweet dreams?"

Robert groaned and arched beneath him. "God," he said, "I really was on a beach. I can still taste the salt."

Eames pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He tried not to let his jealousy show. "And?"

"And it was _amazing._ " He turned his head though it wasn't enough for him to see Eames. "There were these drapes...they were hanging off the canopy...and they fell all over me. It was like my whole body was... They were _licking_ me, all over, and they were so warm and..." He reached blindly back and slapped at Eames's knees. "Give me another hit."

Eames chuckled. "That was all I had on me."

Robert heaved a sigh. "Fuck you. Go get some more."

"It's the middle of the night," Eames said, kissing the nape of his neck. "Just go back to sleep, Robert. Maybe you'll pick up where you left off." He turned the bedside lamp off.

"God, it felt so good," Robert mumbled into his pillow. "It was so real... Was I really dreaming?"

"Of course." Eames stretched out alongside him, and was charmed when Robert wriggled closer. He let his fingertips drift lazily over Robert's warm skin. "Tell me more."

"I think it was...the Caribbean." His voice grew softer as the darkness of the room lulled him back to sleep. "The ocean...it was so fucking blue. It was so blue it wasn't blue anymore...you know?" He yawned. "I saw a dolphin."

Eames smiled and drew the sheets over them. "A dolphin?" he repeated in a whisper.

"Yeah..." Robert's chuckle came out as a dull grumble. "It reminded me of you..."

Eames had no idea what that meant, and he didn't get the chance to ask, because then Robert was asleep again.

 

 

 

By one o'clock, Eames woke to the glare of a lap top screen. He rubbed his eyes and squinted against the glow, and was just able to make out Robert, sitting at his desk again. "Now what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm buying a PASIV."

Eames jolted awake. He pulled himself out of bed and padded across the chilling hardwood to stand at Robert's side. "You're what?"

"A PASIV." Robert pointed to the screen. "There's a man in Sydney that says he can get me one in under two hours."

"Oh hell." Eames reached over him and closed the window.

"Hey!" Robert shoved at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's the middle of the bloody night," Eames said irritably. "Anything you can get at this hour is _not_ something you want to put in your arm."

Robert leaned back in a huff. It was then that Eames smelled the alcohol, and he spotted an open bottle of brandy on the desk. "Have you been drinking?" he asked.

"No," Robert said petulantly.

Eames gave the bottle a shake and found it half empty. He sighed. "Why can't you just go to sleep? Don't you have to fly out in the morning?"

"But look at this." Robert opened his browser and called a page up from his history. "Look at these numbers," he said as he scrolled over paragraphs of text. "Did you know that in the past seven years, the amount of money spent on dreamshare research has tripled? And yet there are still only eleven countries that fund programs for it? It's not legal to have Somnacin of any kind in most places." He glanced up at Eames. "Including here."

"Then it's a good thing I don't have any more on me," Eames replied smartly.

Robert turned back to the screen. "And that doesn't even touch on the illegal industry," he went on, excitement blazing in his tantalizingly blue eyes. "The educational applications, the entertainment applications. Why is no one lobbying harder for these things?" He grabbed his brandy and took a long gulp. "Idiots, everyone."

"Yes, yes. It's all very vexing." Eames rubbed the back of Robert's neck. "Come back to bed."

Robert hummed a negative. "No, _look_ at this," he insisted. "Did you know that there are underground bars in Tokyo where you can dream gamble? Parlors even in Los Angeles where you can pay to _kill_ your own subconscious projections?"

"You don't want to go to those," Eames said. "Believe me. Now come on."

He gave him a tug, and Robert scowled, shrugging him off. "No, I'm not finished. You know more about this than me--tell me what you think."

"It's one in the morning; I don't want to think about anything." Eames stole the brandy for a drink of his own.

Robert snatched it back. "Then go back to bed and leave me alone."

"You're drunk, and I'm not letting you give out your credit card numbers to internet drug dealers," Eames said impatiently. "This can wait until morning. You should--"

"Just fuck off, all right?" Robert snapped. "I don't want to sleep."

Eames rolled his eyes and relented. "Fine." Fearing that Robert would kick him out if he pushed too hard he climbed back into bed.

As the room went quiet, Eames felt a pang of guilt. He glanced back to the desk, where Robert was still hunched over his laptop. The glow of the screen lit Robert's cheekbones in stark contrast, making him appear ghostlike in the old room. He was just desperate for distraction, as delicate then as when Eames had first discovered him.

 _Wait until tomorrow,_ Eames thought, shoving his face into the pillow. _He'll be a different person by then anyway._ His chest ached.

A few minutes later he heard the laptop close. Bare feet tapped softly across the floor and then the mattress shifted. Eames sighed, relieved, and waited to see how Robert would settle so he could adjust to him. But then long fingers kneaded into his back, and warm lips trailed over the nape of his neck.

"Eames," Robert murmured. "Are you asleep?"

Eames remained still. There was something coy in Robert's voice, and he wasn't sure which direction he was being manipulated towards yet.

"Eaaaames. Are you sleeping?" A hot, wet tongue dragged over the back of his ear.

Eames groaned and rolled his shoulders. "Yes."

"Such a fucking liar," Robert said. He kissed Eames's ear, his neck, and between his shoulders. "I hate lawyers like you."

Eames smirked. "Me too." He didn't know what had changed Robert's mood so dramatically, and he wasn't sure he trusted it, but the mouth felt good. He stretched as if he could give himself more surface area for Robert to tease.

"Are you coming to L.A.?" Robert asked as he made his way down Eames's spine.

Eames's stomach tightened, but he told himself that Robert meant nothing by it--he couldn't know anything. "Why?"

"Because I wanna fuck you in my own house."

Robert leaned over him and pressed a wet kiss to the skin just above the crack of his ass. It was unexpected and stirring, but it was the gentle scrape of teeth that took Eames's breath away. His toes curled as Robert gnawed playfully at his tailbone. "What makes you think I want to get fucked?" he taunted. It wasn't his style, but he could feel the heat coming off the body pressing into him, and if Robert was ready to go he wasn't about to stop him.

"You will," Robert promised. "When I'm through with you."

Robert climbed on top of him. Eames grunted as the weight against his shoulders forced his head deeper into the pillow, and he had to adjust to keep from being suffocated. He was about to complain when Robert kissed that same spot again, and he decided he was just interested enough to see where Robert was going.

"Have you ever been to L.A.?" Robert asked. He stretched out across Eames's body, licking and nibbling at his lower back. His fingers kneaded into Eames's ass and spread down the backs of his thighs.

Eames squirmed. Robert didn't weigh much, but he was out of reach, and Eames wasn't used to the sensation of being pinned. It drew a very pleasant tingle into his stomach. "Yes, years ago."

"I hate it." Robert groped along the inside of Eames's thighs and coaxed them further apart. "But you'll love my place. It has such a beautiful view." He pressed both hands against Eames's back and them smoothed them downwards, spreading Eames's ass and gently stroking every bit of tender skin down to his balls.

"Jesus," Eames breathed, growing tense. His fingers wound in the sheets as a slow shiver worked its way through him.

"Relax." Robert kissed him again, and Eames could hear a bottle being opened. When Robert's hands returned they were slick with lubricant, exploring thoroughly between his legs. "Shh, just relax, it'll feel better."

Eames grumbled to himself, but he couldn't deny that Robert's caress was seeping arousal into his blood. When Robert gave his balls a slow squeeze his cock swelled against the sheets. "I am relaxed," he mumbled.

Robert nudged two fingers into him. Eames kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply, hating as much as appreciating Robert's patience. It took him longer than he'd expected to adjust to the intrusion, but feeling his body gradually loosen beneath Robert's deepening pressure was its own thrilling experience. By the time Robert was thrusting in and out of him he felt he was ready for anything.

"So when were you in L.A. last?" Robert asked, rubbing his thumb against Eames's stretched opening as he continued to slowly fuck him.

"God damn it, are you honestly trying to have a conversation now?" Eames spread his knees wider and tried to angle his hips off the mattress.

Robert pushed up on his knees, and with his fingers still buried he encouraged Eames to lift his ass higher. "You can help me find someone there that'll sell me proper Somnacin, right?" he asked.

Eames sighed in exasperation. "Are you still--" He trailed off in a startled moan as Robert gave his cock a series of long strokes. "God, you son of a--"

"I just want to try it again," Robert said. He scooted further down Eames's body and turned his wrist, his fingers curling. "You'll get me some, right?"

Eames started to protest, but then Robert's fingertips brushed something deep inside him, and his mind went blank. Pleasure seethed through his abdomen and up his spine, and his breath froze as he mouthed his pillow. Just when he thought he could compose himself to answer the fingers began to move again, teasing his prostate in tiny circles.

"Right?" Robert asked again.

"Yes," Eames gasped, digging his hands into the mattress. "Yes, whatever you--Jesus--what are you doing?" He tried to thrust up against the fingers but he was still trapped between Robert's thighs and could barely move. He shuddered as heat pulsed up and down his entire body. "God, that's..."

Robert gave his balls another squeeze. "It's good, isn't it?" He trailed his free hand back and rubbed his knuckles against the tender skin there, carefully at first, gradually increasing the pressure.

Eames tried to reply, but only nonsensical blather came out of his mouth. He felt as if his heart was pulsing between his legs, and Robert was groping it from all sides. His skin was white hot and his cock twitched against his thigh, jealous and straining. "B...back," he said. "Just a little..."

When Robert slid his knuckles back it was perfect. Between the fingers still squirming inside and against him he had no defense, and an orgasm unlike any he'd ever felt surged through him. His organs churned and his muscles locked and his cock spat again and again until he was utterly spent.

"Fuck..." Eames sagged to the mattress, and even then was still shivering. "Bloody Jesus, where'd you learn to..."

Robert climbed off him and twisted around. He kissed Eames's shoulders and neck as if nothing had happened. "Will you come to Los Angeles with me?" he asked.

"Yes." Eames wiped drool from his mouth and shifted just enough so that he was mostly comfortable, knowing he wouldn't be conscious long. He would have agreed to anything. "Fuck, yes."

"Good." Robert kissed his ear. "I don't want to be alone after the funeral."

Eames turned his head, but then Robert climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

 

 

By three o'clock Eames was desperate for a shower. Robert seemed to be deeply asleep, so he crept to the bathroom and helped himself to the hot water and expensive body wash. He was sore in strange places and he couldn't help but laugh. If he wasn't already planning to break his promise to stay on in Los Angeles, he would have made Robert teach him a thing or two.

He dried off and returned to the bedroom. Robert had rolled onto his stomach, and it wasn't until Eames climbed into bed with him that he realized he was shaking. When Eames touched his shoulder, he flinched and drew away, his sob muffled in the pillows.

Eames swallowed back a curse. "Hey." He leaned against Robert's side and rubbed his back. "Hey, Robert. Are you all right?"

Robert made a strangled noise and turned his head away. "I'm fine."

"Hey." Eames pulled at his shoulder. "Let me see you."

"Leave me alone!"

Eames grabbed and turned him over by force. As suspected Robert's face was smeared with tears, and he quickly lifted both hands to try and cover it. Eames sighed. "Oh Robert..."

"Shut up," Robert said, wiping his eyes. "I'm fine."

Eames ran his hand up and down Robert's ribs. "You're crying."

He let his hands fall to his stomach, though was sure to keep them out of the way of Eames's attentions. "My father just died," he said. "Of course I'm upset."

Though it was an obvious answer, it came so bluntly that Eames couldn't believe it. "And what else?" he asked.

Robert glared up at him, but he was exhausted, and he couldn't hold his guise of indifference. His face twisted in a grimace as he struggled. "I can't."

"Shh, it's all right." Eames cupped Robert's face and ran his thumb gently over his lower lip. "Tell me."

Robert sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's not fair," he blurted out. "How could he do that to me?" Fresh tears spilled down his temples, and he grabbed Eames's wrist, keeping him close as everything spilled out of him in a rush. "I did everything for him, all these years. Everything! I tried, anyway. I tried so hard and it was never good enough for him, that son of a bitch!"

Eames pursed his lips. Sympathy ached in his throat but he remained silent, rubbing Robert's cheek and chest in encouragement.

"It was never going to be enough," Robert continued. "I've always known that. And I tried not to care, I really did. But what else was I supposed to do? He's my goddamn..." He choked on the words, and took a long moment to swallow his bitterness down. "He _was_ my father. Even if I couldn't be him I wanted him to...to at least _see_ me. To...acknowledge me." He shook his head. "But no. Never."

"Robert." Eames ran his fingers through Robert's soft hair. "He _was_ you father, and because of that, I'm sure he saw. I'm sure he lo--"

"Don't." Robert shook his head again. "Please don't," he whispered. His depressingly blue eyes glistened in the dark. "You don't know."

"Then tell me."

"He..." Robert quaked beneath him. "I worked so hard. I told myself it didn't matter if he noticed. I even...." His hand tightened around Eames's wrist. "I wanted him to die," he confessed haltingly. "He was in pain--he wanted it too, I know he did--and I thought...once he was gone, I could finally stop worrying about what he wanted. I could _prove_ that I was worthwhile, that I...maybe I could be _that man_ only after he was gone."

He let his breath out in a sharp bark of bitter laughter. "And he ruined even that. How could he say that and then fucking die? What's the point of proving myself now? I'll never be what he was." His chest heaved as a panic came over him. "I can't do it. I can't do this--if I try I'm only going to disappoint him more. I'll only..."

"Shh, that's enough." Eames leaned down and pressed a short kiss to Robert's trembling lips. "That's enough."

Robert hooked his fingers behind Eames's neck and pulled, demanding another kiss. Eames granted it, wincing as ragged breath panted against his jaw. His brain whirled, spinning back to the days in Paris, the carefully sculpted plans that were only hours away from resolution. He doubted himself. As Robert shook in his arms and cried into his chest he was suddenly unsure of all the work they had done and how he would he accomplish his already impossible task.

"Robert..." Eames urged him back, and with both hands wiped the tears from his cheeks. "I'm not your Uncle Peter," he said. "I'm not one of your employees. I'm not the press. So just tell me the truth: do you _want_ to follow in your father's footsteps? Do you _want_ to run Fischer Morrow?"

Robert closed his eyes. "No," he said quietly, and his entire body grew lax, as if he'd relinquished part of himself. "I don't."

Eames licked his lips. "Then...what _do_ you want?" he asked, his voice hushed and anxious.

"I don't know." Robert pulled at him. "Please, just...I don't know."

Eames drooped. _Of course it wouldn't be that easy._ He settled into the mattress, and as soon as he'd stopped moving Robert curled against him, weak and needy and hopeful. Eames wrapped him up in his arms and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, stroking the small hairs at the base of his scalp. "Simply beautiful, love. Don't ever think any different."

Robert sobbed quietly against his throat and, in time, fell back asleep.

 

 

 

By five o'clock Eames awoke to: "Yes, I'm fucking serious. Don't I sound fucking serious to you?"

Eames sat up sharply, thinking at first that there was another person in the room, but a quick scan provided only Robert, growling into his cell phone as he paced back and forth in front of the windows.

"I know it's sudden," Robert said. He paused to take a long drag off a cigarette, and Eames frowned--he hadn't seen Robert smoke once during the days of his research. "But I've been looking into this, and I think it's really on the rise. Why wouldn't we want to be involved in something that could be so huge?"

Eames moved to sit on the edge of the bed. There was something fascinating about watching Robert prowl about the room, his voice commanding when no less than two hours ago he had been in tears. Sydney's sleepy morning lights gleamed through the curtains and made his skin translucent and almost radiant.

"Of course it's a risk. What isn't these days?" Robert stopped for another puff as he listened to whoever it was on the other end of the call. "So we'll drum up some extra capital. Don’t try to bullshit me like that, there is _always_ enough money." He noticed Eames watching him, gestured for him to shut up, and went back to pacing. "So we'll sell something. Wasn't Wayland offering to buy Keener Industries off us a few weeks ago? ...And why should I care about that?"

Eames tapped his toes against the floor, restless with curiosity. _What the hell is going on? He didn't get back into the booze did he?_

"No, listen. No _listen_ \--you never fucking listen. Maybe that's why Keener is losing money in the first place, did you never think of _that_? This is my goddamn company now and we're going to do things _my_ way. I'm telling you, this shared dreaming business has a million applications that no one has thought of yet, and if we get involved now, the profits are going to print themselves, I'm sure of it."

 _Oh hell._ Eames started to get up, but Robert motioned at him sharply to sit back down. _Oh bloody fucking hell._

"Well it's not 'Fischer Morrow Gas and Shit' either, now is it?" Robert said. "Who says we have to only be about energy? This company has always been about innovation, right? The _future_. And here were are, in the future, getting left behind. What...?" His face was livid. "Fuck you, I'm not fucking drunk. What makes you think you can talk to me like that? You're fucking fired."

Eames's jaw dropped, and his hands fisted against his knees. "Robert--"

"Yes, you heard me--you're _fired_." Robert paced faster, his voice growing more and more heated. "Go ahead, tell Peter! Not as effective as going to Maurice, is it? Don't think you can push me around anymore--Maurice is _dead_ , and he was the only one that liked you anyway. In fact, fuck you, I've always hated you, you ass kissing no talent Cambridge leech. Take your shares with you to Hell."

Robert hung up and tossed his phone onto his desk chair. As the room went quiet again he stopped pacing, breathing in the nicotine in deep, triumphant puffs. Eames stared, shocked, and at long last found his voice.

"Bloody hell, Robert. Who was _that?_ "

Robert blew a ring of smoke. "Turner Merchant."

Eames blanched. "Isn't he...isn't he in charge of Fischer Morrow's _entire_ European division?"

"Yeah. God, he's such an asshole." Robert laughed, tossing his head back. "I've wanted to do that for years!"

Eames's mouth flapped in astonishment, but when Robert turned toward him, something flashed in his unceasingly blue eyes that captivated him. He licked his lips. "Might have been wiser to wait until..."

"Until what? You were right, Eames." Robert moved across the room and stopped just in front of him. "This is about what _I_ want now. Why should I let anyone tell me different? For years everyone's been holding me back, trying to make me into my father, when maybe I have ideas of my own, you know?" He took a quick drag off his cigarette. "I'm not an idiot. I know a good deal when I see one, and I have a good feeling about this dream share crap. It's only going to get bigger and we should take advantage of that, right?"

Eames blinked up at him. "Yes," he said dumbly. "Of course you should."

"Of course we should!" Robert laughed again, his grin dazzling. "God that felt good. It _feels_ good."

Eames took Robert's hips, and only then realized that Robert was already half hard with the euphoria of his accomplishment. He licked his lips. "I can see that."

Robert looked down, and seeing the focus of Eames's attention, he stepped closer. "Do you think I'm making a mistake?" he challenged.

"No." Eames was still incredulous, but Robert's sudden burst of energy was contagious, and he leaned forward, pressing a nibbling kiss to Robert's belly button. "You were brilliant. I wish I could have seen the old windbag's face."

"Me too." Robert spread his fingers through Eames's hair. Their strength had returned; his grip against Eames's scalp was possessive and thrilling. "But you were watching _me_ , weren't you?"

Eames kissed Robert's abdomen, lowering his hands to rub the muscles right where Robert's ass met his thighs. "Yes."

"Because why?" Robert prompted.

"Because." Eames chuckled; he could hardly believe he was with the same man. "Because you're beautiful," he said.

Robert reached down, giving his cock a slow stroke before nudging it against Eames's lips. Eames happily took the head into his mouth. He lavished him with his tongue, eager to feel Robert grow harder beneath it.

Robert sighed happily. "I'm going to call Whitefield next," he said. "I hate him, too."

Eames had to pull away so he could laugh. "No, no more calls. You're going to give Mr. Browning a heart attack." He pushed back on the mattress and tugged Robert's thighs to get him to follow. "And he'll blame me for not stopping you."

"He should--it's your fault." Robert climbed onto the mattress and set his knee against Eames's chest, forcing him down. "I was just going to sit in this room all night and feel sorry for myself if not for you."

Eames dropped onto his back, not sure if he should be amused or intimidated. As Robert crawled over him he pulled at his thighs, encouraging him. "Well, you're welcome."

Robert shoved his cigarette between his lips, one hand gripping the headboard as the other guided his cock back to Eames's mouth. "You might be the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said, and though there was humor in his voice, there was a roughness to it that might have been truth.

Eames relaxed his jaw and throat and Robert slid into him again. He was determined to pay Robert back for the attention bestowed on him earlier, and concentrated hard on opening up to him, welcoming him deep into his mouth. He kept him there a moment, hands clenched just below his hips, sucking hard until Robert was moaning loudly above him.

"Can you take it?" Robert asked anxiously. He pulled back so that Eames could get a full breath. "All of it?"

Eames licked his lips. "Everything you've got."

Robert groaned as he was taken in. He remained still at first, letting Eames draw him in until his head prodded the back of his throat, but when Eames was comfortable enough to give his hips an encouraging tug, his restraint fractured. "Oh Eames," he moaned, thrusting eagerly down Eames's throat. Once Eames's lips were at the root he let go of his cock so he could take a proper breath off his cigarette. "I've missed you all my life."

Eames closed his eyes. He ran his hands over Robert's hips and thighs, urging him to motion. He'd had plenty of experience, and had little trouble swallowing down even Robert's thick cock. Every pump of Robert's hips was faster and sharper than the last as the vulgar, vocal symphony of hours past returned, and Eames shivered, delighting in it.

"Nngh, you're so...you're so right," Robert huffed as he fucked Eames's mouth in short, determined snaps. "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna fucking... oh _fuck._ " The headboard rattled beneath his grip, and then his fingers were winding in Eames's hair, pinning him to the mattress. Even Eames's weary body simmered with passion beneath Robert's determination. "I'm doing it for _me_. Fuck them all, I deserve it, don't I? I'm gonna..."

Robert whimpered, and feeling that he was close, Eames tightened his throat around him. "I'm gonna come," he groaned. "I'm gonna do it. I'll show them all, I'll--"

He jerked, shooting wave after wave down Eames's throat. Eames was running out of air but he stayed wrapped around Robert until he was spent and soft again. Only then did he push Robert's hips back and rub his sore jaw. As he gasped for breath, Robert pressed his cigarette to his swollen lips. Eames smirked and breathed in the sweet drug.

Robert rolled off him, and put the cigarette out against his bedside clock. He was panting but still full of energy, and he started to climb out of bed. "I should call--"

"No." Eames grabbed him around the waist and dragged him under the covers. "No more calls. For Christ's sake Robert, just go to _sleep._ "

Robert heaved a sigh, and fought at first, but he was no match for Eames's biceps. He gave up and rubbed his shoulders into Eames's chest, drawing them close together. "Fine," he grumbled. "Sleep. I'll call him from the plane."

 _The plane._ Eames groaned against Robert's neck and hoped he mistook the cause. _God, what I am doing?_

 

 

 

By seven o'clock, Eames awoke to Robert's tongue lapping at his right nipple. He was too tired to even properly curse. "You've got to be kidding me."

Robert was on top of him, shoulders hunched as he teased Eames's chest with suckling kisses and gentle nibbles. "Good morning," he purred.

Eames sighed. Light was streaming through the gaps in the curtains, bright and inescapable, depriving him of further excuses. His hand drifted to Robert's head, petting him as if of its own volition. "If it's morning, I've got to get you to the airport," he said uneasily.

"There's time." Robert stretched, still kissing Eames's nipple as he settled his weight against Eames's hips. He gave a little pump that rubbed their cocks together.

 _There's time,_ Eames thought, and then shook his head. He took Robert by the waist and did his best to ignore the pleasant curl in his stomach. "Wait, wait," he said. But then Robert's teeth graced his skin, and his resolve wavered. "You're sure you're up for this?"

"Mmn, getting there." Robert switched to the other side, sucking insistently as he rubbed the full length of their torsos together. And as promised, Eames could feel him growing firm against him.

"Hell, all right." Eames knew he was crazy but his pulse was already heating in anticipation. He pressed into the small of Robert's back and hissed when they scraped together. "But if we both pass out and miss our flight, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough."

Robert pushed up on his elbows so they could meet in a deep, mouth to mouth kiss. He still reeked of sweat and smoke from their last encounter but it only excited Eames more. They writhed together within the hissing sheets, taking their time to let friction draw strength back to their overworked appendages. And then a phone rang.

They both shot each other a hateful look, but Robert won the showdown. "That's not my ringtone."

Eames glared into the room, and would have simply let it ring if he hadn't remembered what time it was. With a grumbled curse he tried to wriggle out from under Robert. "I have to take that."

Robert sighed in long-suffering irritation. He rose up on his knees, giving Eames enough maneuvering room so that he could lean over the edge of the bed and dig into his jacket. As soon as the phone had been retrieved, however, he shoved Eames's back to the mattress and spread over him again.

"Robert--" Eames rolled his eyes, but had little choice but to answer. He cleared his throat as he held the phone to his ear. "I'm here."

"Where is 'here'?" Cobb said irately. "You're supposed to be at the airport by now."

Eames started to answer, but then Robert went back to nibbling his chest, spreading little sparks of pleasure across his skin. He bit his lip hard to keep from making any embarrassing noises. "I know, sorry. I got...hung up."

"Well get over here, now. You know how long security takes these days."

"Yeah...I know." Eames tugged sharply on Robert's hair, dragging the devious mouth away from his skin. "Do you mind? I'm on the phone."

Robert glared back at him; he curled his back and rocked deliberately against Eames's hips. Eames shuddered, his breath hitching, and he suddenly found that he couldn't break his gaze from the steady focus of Robert's disturbingly blue eyes.

"You're _with someone_?"

Eames gulped. He was trapped, and could only stare as Robert continued to rub their cocks slowly together. "S...Sort of," he murmured. Robert was already thick and hard, prodding against him enticingly.

"Well whoever it is, lose her--we _can't_ miss this flight and we _can't_ do this without you."

Robert slid his tongue slowly over his top lip, and Eames couldn't help himself; with one hand still fisted in Robert's hair he jerked him forward, sealing them in a passionate kiss. Robert moaned into him and thrust harder against him, grinding them together.

"Eames?"

Eames growled and pulled Robert back again--saw excitement flash across his face with the rough treatment. "It doesn't matter if I make the flight if Fischer's not on it," he blurted out. "Stop worrying."

Robert immediately stopped moving. "Are you talking about me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cobb asked.

Eames sighed in frustration, but before he could answer either of them Robert grabbed the phone out of his hand. "Hey--"

Robert sat up, out of reach. "It's _my_ plane, it's not going to take off without me," he said into the phone. Meanwhile he reached down, taking care to readjust their erections into a better angle against each other.

Eames pushed up on his elbows and tried to reach for the phone, but Robert only leaned further back. He gave up and flopped onto the mattress. "Robert, give it back."

"Do you mind? I'm _on the phone_." Robert rubbed his thumb idly against Eames's head as he turned his attention back to the phone. "What the hell do you mean, 'who is this?' This is Robert Fischer, who is _this?_ " He frowned. "Cobb? Like the corn?"

"Give me the phone," Eames demanded.

"Hold on." Robert rolled his eyes. "Why would I be joking? You'd better watch your tone with me, Mr. Cobb, you won't be the first person I've fired this morning."

"Please give me the phone," Eames begged, holding his hand out.

"Why do you want to talk to...fine, fine." He dropped the phone onto Eames's stomach. "Your assistant's an asshole," he said.

Eames couldn't help but smirk as he snatched the phone up and held it to his ear. "Cobb, it's me, sorry."

"Eames, what the hell is going on?"

Robert twisted around, rummaging through the rumpled sheets at the edge of the bed. When he turned back holding the bottle of lubricant Eames flushed and hurried to finish his conversation.

"Everything's under control," he said, watching as Robert uncapped the bottle. "Just make sure everything's ready at the airport and I'll be there soon."

Robert turned the bottle upside down and squeezed, squirting a more than ample amount onto their straining cocks. His eyebrow arched and his fingers wiggled teasingly as he made a show of reaching for them.

"You had better be here," Cobb was saying from somewhere very far away. "This is my ass on the line, Eames."

Robert wrapped his long fingers around them and immediately began stroking, swift and tight and glorious. He didn't make any attempt to staunch his throaty groan of approval. "You should...get Mr. Cobb on a video call," he said, sliding one finger between them to put extra pressure on their pulsing veins.

Eames dug his heels in, bucking against Robert's brilliant grip. "Fuck, Cobb," he groaned senselessly into the phone. "You've gotta get fucked like this."

" _What_?"

"Gotta go." Eames shoved the phone under the pillow, not knowing or caring if he'd hung up, and at last was able to put his full focus on his partner. He urged Robert's hand back. "Let me," he gasped, capturing their throbbing cocks in his calloused palm. "Do it--fuck it--"

Robert smacked his lips and rocked against him. "God," he said as he rolled his hips, sliding back and forth along Eames's taut length. "God, that's good." He braced a hand against Eames's lower abdomen so he could lean forward and get better leverage for each thrust.

Eames tossed his head back, moaning shamelessly as Robert fucked the underside of his cock. His fist clenched in an involuntary rhythm around them, and his balls ached as Robert's pressed into them, but he was most startled by the deep, seething pleasure layered on top of it thanks to the heavy palm kneading into his belly. It was as if he could feel Robert inside him, stroking and humming through his core. "Oh fuck," he choked, his free hand clawing at Robert's thigh to get him to speed up. "Fuck, don't stop..." He shoved his body upwards, his breath heaving, his sweat boiling off his skin. "Robert--"

Robert shuddered and cried out. His hips jerked with release, and feeling his cock sputter and pulse sent Eames crashing over the edge as well. They pawed at each other with curses and low groans until their chests were coated and their spines aching.

"You're beautiful," Eames breathed, collapsing. He grunted softly when Robert dropped heavily onto his chest. "Fucking beautiful, love."

"You're..." Robert laughed weakly and kissed his nose. "You're not so bad, either."

 

 

 

By nine o'clock they were, by some miracle of God, on the plane.

Eames dropped into his seat. He was sore and half asleep and his hair was still damp from a very hasty shower, but he was present. He was ready to go into a man's brain and destroy him. And he felt sick.

Robert stood next to him, checking his ticket with a disgruntled frown. He cleaned up remarkably well, even if he wasn't having any easier time walking than Eames. After long moments of consideration he turned to Yusuf. "Excuse me, would you mind switching seats with me?"

Yusuf glanced up, and to his credit managed not to look at everyone else in the cabin in panic. "Um...sure." He flashed a winning smile and stood.

"Thank you." Robert sat down and immediately pulled out his phone. He gestured to Eames. "Come look at this."

Eames's eyebrows perked, and he too made an effort not to look at Cobb as he plunked down in the empty seat next to Robert. "What is it?"

Robert tapped a few times and then handed the phone to him. "Merchant has started posting confidential Fischer Morrow documents on the internet," he said with a kind of bitter amusement. "I guess he didn't take well to being fired. Oh how I'm going to sue him."

Eames gaped, and at last looked to his companions. They were all watching without looking like they were watching, except for Saito, who was hastily pulling out his phone. "This is...pretty bad, isn't it?" Eames winced sympathetically. "I don't suppose they're harmless?"

"Oh, no. You have no idea the sorts of things we...well, now everyone knows, I guess." He shook his head, still not terribly distressed by the news. "I'm sure our whole European branch could go down for this."

Eames wanted to be appalled, but Robert looked so calm, almost smug. "You're not worried?"

"It doesn't matter." He took the phone back and began tapping again. "I'm already planning on selling my controlling interest in the company. It won't be worth much, with the stocks going the way they are, but my inheritance is still sizable in its own right. Maurice had plenty of smaller companies unconnected with Fischer Morrow--through dummies, of course--that won't be affected by this. I just have to get my capital together and start in a new direction."

"Um...." Eames felt he already knew the answer, but he still asked. "Which direction would that be?"

"Dreamshare." Eames felt the stares on him but refused to look up again. "While you were in the shower I sent an email to a friend in Boston," Robert continued. "He's been bugging me for years, trying to get funding for his foundation. They've been lobbying for years to expand the limitations on Somnacin in the States, but they just don't have the influence." He shot Eames a cocky smile. "Think the old man's fortune would help?"

"Robert." Eames rubbed his whiskers, overwhelmed, but hopeful--desperately hopeful. "Are you sure about this? You're talking about your father's company." He shook his head in disbelief. "Are you really willing to let it all go like that?"

Robert's humor faded, but resolution gleamed in his heart-wrenchingly blue eyes, and he took only a moment to answer. "Yes," he said. "It's not what Maurice...what my father would have wanted--not right now, anyway. But when I'm through...he'll see." He breathed deeply and nodded to himself. "And even if he doesn't, at least it'll be what _I_ want." A smile tugged his lips. "Because I deserve that much, don't I?"

He looked to Eames, who smiled back, and gave his hand a squeeze. "Yes, you do."

 

 

 

By ten o'clock the plane was at maximum altitude, and Robert Fischer was passed out in his seat. Eames gave his arm a stern shake to be sure, and then the onslaught came.

Arthur all but vaulted out of his chair. "What the hell did you do to him?" he demanded.

"Eames, I swear to God I could kill you right now," Cobb added vehemently. His cheeks were red from more than anger.

Eames held his hands up as the rest of the team crowded around. "Everyone calm down, all right? I didn't...really do much, honestly."

"Did you tip him off?" asked Saito, just as livid as Cobb. "Did you _tell_ him to say all that?"

"Of course not! Call your people--have them check for themselves. Having heard Mr. Merchant's last moments of employment, I'm not surprised he's gone mad."

Saito fixed him with an untrusting look, but then he returned to his chair and snatched up the air phone.

"I know you're all confused," Eames continued in his absence, "but we have to abort this job either way."

Ariadne fidgeted. "But what if he changes his mind?"

"It doesn't matter." Eames looked to Cobb seriously. "We can't go into his mind now, not when he's so unstable. And besides, we'd need to change the plan anyway. He has subconscious training that we didn't know about."

"Nothing like that showed in his background check," Arthur said.

"Think I'm lying?" Eames turned Robert's wrist to show off the faint scar. "He's used Somnacin before, which means he'll be lucid. We have to abort."

Cobb rubbed his temples. "But we _can't_. Eames, you know I--"

"If this decision of his doesn't take, we will have another chance," Eames promised. "He takes this flight twice a month, remember? And it'll be easier next time, now that he trusts me." He stepped closer, trying to convey to Cobb his seriousness. "Come on, Cobb. Just give him a little more time."

Saito returned from his phone call. "It's true," he reported, baffled. "Fischer Morrow's stock is plummeting."

Everyone looked to each other in confused silence. Cobb looked to Eames one more time, and then sighed. "Then I think you owe me a phone call, Mr. Saito," he said.

"Our arrangement was for Inception," he replied warily.

"Mr. Eames works for _me_ on this job, and we got you what you wanted." Cobb's intensity was impressive as always, and Saito leaned back beneath it. "If Fischer Morrow is weakening, you're no longer in danger of a takeover. If you want to cut our payoff then fine, but if we land _I go to prison_ and we'll never get another chance at this."

"Hey," Yusuf protested. "I did my part too, you know."

Saito glanced from each of them to the next, finishing with Cobb. His shoulders sagged. "Very well." He turned to his chair and picked up the phone again. "But if Fischer changes his mind, the job is back on."

Cobb sighed deeply with relief. He shot Eames a look as he sat back down that Eames was at a loss to interpret. One by one the others followed suit, and Eames retook his chair next to Robert. He smirked. "Guess I'll stay on in L.A. a while after all," he said quietly.

Robert Fischer hummed softly, and slept soundly all the way to Los Angeles.


End file.
